MAY 28

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    The next few times Minho met up with Jisung, sometime during each hang-out when they were somehow exposed to music, Jisung would dance and Minho would watch. And each time, Jisung subtly try to get Minho to join in. Sometimes by offering a hand— a soothing touch— as bait. Each time Minho turned him down.

    He came around eventually. Jisung's determination wouldn't crumble, so Minho's, being ever-the-more fragile, did instead. Soon enough he went from straight-up refusing, like when they were at the lake, to making excuses. Like now.

   Now, it was late into a summer evening and they were on Jisung's porch swing, at just past sunset with a deep, dark blue coating the sky as it passed into night. Minho had headed straight for the yellow-door house after a long, tiring day at work with a late shift. Being stressed and tired out, he wanted to be home, so the last thing he'd do would be to go back to his house. Instead, he went to Jisung.

   And now he was home: Jisung's hand had eased itself around his, holding it loosely. So perfectly warm that Minho figured he'd end up sunburnt by the time they parted. 

   They sat swinging slowly while Jisung showed Minho some of the new music he'd been listening to. Mostly mellow, slow songs that fit a melted post-sunset mood: warm, hazy guitar and soothing vocals that made it hard not to give in to the urge to let his weary head drop onto Jisung's shoulder. But by the time the streetlights flickered on a few dozen feet away and the crickets started their serenade, the vibe changed.

   "Oooh, listen to this one!" Jisung chirped. The strong, rapid beat that kicked in after the quickly-building intro of his next pick was jarring after the last few: a rude awakening when Minho had almost been put to sleep. Jisung's head bobbed enthusiastically to that beat, and his body, which had begun to conform to Minho's, now straightened up. He slid off the swing, pulling away from it, but not letting go of Minho. Their hands remained linked, suspended in the gap between them. Tension there, because neither let go; Minho stayed where he was, seated on the swing.

    "Doesn't it just make you wanna dance?" Jisung asked, swaying loosely with a smile growing on his face, pressing his darling, round cheeks out further and further; scrunching up his big, sparkly eyes. But it wasn't one of those open-mouthed, gums-out, heart-shaped, pearly-white grins that looked so damn good on him. Minho could tell that their connection held Jisung back from enjoying himself the way he would have if Minho hadn't been stubbornly stuck in place— if he let go, Jisung could get into it without being anchored by Minho's stationary state. 

   Minho let his hand go limp, to let Jisung slip away. But Jisung didn't. He waited for the answer, hanging on (literally). And sweat began to rise on the back of his neck; probably his palms, too. Jisung would probably feel it.

   "Well, I... I wasn't made to, uh... be a dancer. I just can't... do it." Having two left feet was something that must have run in his stiff-bodied, stiff-hearted family. Not that he'd ever seen any of them even try to dance. His family were the sort to take up the least amount of space possible; to section off a small stretch of world for themselves and keep to it, alone and motionless. So Minho knew he would never be able to move like that. Raised as a resident of an apathetic grey-blue haze, he must've been born without that vibrant, flowing spirit that inspired Jisung to groove the way he did. It wasn't in his blood.

   Not knowing any of these things like Minho did, Jisung insisted, prodding gently: "Come on. Try it."

   And because it was Jisung asking, Minho stood creakily and shuffled toward him nervously, compliantly, as he led him down the two wooden steps into the lush, dewy grass. Heart thumping.

   Only then did Jisung let go. He turned so his back faced Minho (probably to make it easier for him— both so that he wouldn't feel pressured by having someone watching him, and so that he could watch Jisung's movements and follow along.) And then he launched into a cross-over step that looked familiar— must've been one he did at the lake or in the store or both— but it was laden with nuances Minho couldn't even fully comprehend as he gawked at Jisung from behind; full of smooth energy yet accented appropriately. 

   Minho gulped, eyes bulging. Telling himself he wanted to be someone that had the confidence to move his body. Anything to not be like his family. And to be honest? Yes, yes he did want to dance. But he wanted to dance like Jisung. Not like himself. To feel as happy and as carefree as Jisung seemed to, just having fun moving around, without caring about what he looked like or about if anyone was watching.

    Minho stumbled over his own stupid feet like a newborn giraffe the very second he tried to copy Jisung. He was so glad no one was there to see that. So glad that it was dark; most of the light coming from the dim porch lamp. No one to see him looking so incredibly idiotic.

    Freezing up with burning hot cheeks, Minho only stared as he assessed his failure and the leagues of difference between his clumsy stumbling and Jisung's fluid movement. 

   Jisung must've gathered what happened from the sound of Minho's feet moving in the grass, because, chuckling, he turned around. "Don't worry, I'll teach you. We'll start from the beginning."  

   Minho gave a little, unsure twitch of a smile, scratching his neck; his awkwardly hanging arms. "...Okay. I guess."

   But before he did, captivated by the music, Jisung took a moment to go all-out this time— at least, what Minho would consider all-out. As he closely watched Jisung dance, he realized what it was that made him look so good. What exactly made his performance so enthralling.

it's the way he moves almost as if... the movements of his body are an expression of how he's feeling. what's inside. like he really feels the music within his soul and it pours out into his body: real, unfiltered, genuine. unrefined. 

it's that he's really not performing at all. he's just giving the music visual form.

is that what dancing is ?

if so... well, making feelings and/or whims into physical, observable movements for anyone around to see is obviously no biggie for jisung. but me?

i've made so much progress recently but still, expressing myself— in any way— is the absolute hardest thing for me to do and i'm just entirely incapable of doing it the way jisung does:  openly, freely, and lightheartedly.

and that's even assuming i manage to learn how to do this stuff half-decently with my two left feet. which is not likely.

   "We'll start with a bounce— you can do that, right?"

   "Um..." Minho stared blankly, aimlessly, until Jisung demonstrated.

   "One, two, three, four," Jisung counted, his body fluidly hitting a downwards motion and rebounding on each count. Such a simple move— barely a move at all, really, just down, down, down, down— yet Minho knew he couldn't do it. Not like that, anyway. Still, Jisung instructed, "Just bend your knees and let your body go wherever it wants."

   Once he finally got the courage to bend his damn knees to follow along, if only minimally, Minho found just how right he had been in thinking that he couldn't do it. He tried to do it loosely and breezily, like Jisung, who appeared to not even be trying, but... it just wasn't the same. He didn't need a mirror to see that. He was so stiff, and yes, he most definitely looked stupid. Bobbing sharply up and down like on creaky door hinges.

   He felt... silly. And he wasn't used to being that way at all. Jisung was. He really didn't mind making a fool of himself. Maybe because he knew he had more to offer than the fool. For Minho, this was it.

   "Okay," Jisung chuckled, halting his movements, reaching to hit 'pause' on his phone, bringing a deep flush to Minho's face. "Think about it like this. When you hear music, and the beat first gets to your body, what's the first thing that happens?"

   Really, he would have liked to tell Jisung that he was worried; that he didn't know what to do when the music came on. But he still found himself unable to voice such things. And he wasn't sure if he found that irritating, relieving, or both.

   "I... look around to see where it's coming from?" he joked. Joked. Smiled a little bit.

   Jisung laughed, a cute little titter, giving Minho back a little of the life that had drained out of him. Warm sunshine on pale skin. He reached out to playfully slap at Minho's shoulder— it only made Minho's crooked smile grow wide and toothy. Another of those burning-cheek-muscle ones.

   "Watch," he said, reaching for his phone, searching up something to play. Almost instantly, with the beginning notes, as a stark bass sound came in, Jisung's head naturally began to move in what was nearly a nodding motion; eyes closing. Foot tapping.

  Studying closely, Minho hardly even realized his head started bobbing just slightly, too. Until Jisung opened his eyes— locked eyes with Minho, and suddenly announced, "See? You do have a dancer in there." Jisung reached out and double-tapped Minho's chest softly, making him swallow dry. Touching him unnecessarily and spontaneously again. Jisung was the only one allowed to do this. Jisung was the only one who made it feel good. 

   "You only need one thing to be a dancer: the ability to feel the music," Jisung continued. "And you got it." He smiled warmly, letting his body melt into the rhythm so effortlessly, rolling through his torso, his arms, his shoulders.  "When the music speaks to you, just speak back. Don't worry about it looking good. Dancing doesn't need to look good— it's all about how it feels. Like any kind of art."

easy for you to say when you look incredible.

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heyhey a double update! wooo